Finley Thomas glanced at his brother with a mix of disdain and curiosity as he got up to leave the room. When he reached his brother’s side, he paused, offering a cool, quiet reply, "Nothing much." A smirk played on Finley's lips. "Really?" His brother stepped in, ignoring the comment. Watching him walk away, Finley straightened, allowing a mischievous grin to spread across his face.
Descending the stairs, Finley noticed his father, Martin Thomas, and his brother talking animatedly in the living room. Occasionally, the name Emmie Stewart surfaced—a woman who had preoccupied the Thomas family for days.
"What are you and my brother talking about, Dad?" Finley asked, sinking casually into the sofa, smiling gently at Martin. "You both look so cheerful; it must be something good, right?"
"Finley, with your brother's wedding coming up, if you’re not busy, why not give him a hand?" Martin looked fondly at his two sons. Even though Finley was his illegitimate child, he had always been part of the family. Martin felt guilty about it, but seeing his two sons get along helped ease that guilt.
"Sorry, Dad, I've been swamped lately," Finley replied, shooting Martin a nervous look. "Brother, maybe I can help you first?" His brother flashed him a friendly smile and turned to Martin, saying, "It's okay, Dad, Finley has his own stuff to deal with. I can manage."
In just a few minutes, the expressions on the Thomas brothers' faces shifted noticeably. Martin, oblivious to any tension, stood up with a warm smile. "Alright, this afternoon you’re meeting Emmie—get yourself something nice to wear."
"Yes, Dad, I will," his brother replied.
Feeling tired, Martin headed upstairs to rest, leaving the two brothers alone in the living room. His brother seemed indifferent as he flipped through the newspaper, his thoughts wandering to Emmie Stewart, a springlike smile involuntarily tugging at his lips.
Finley lifted his cup, took a sip of coffee, and set it back down. "Brother, I'm really sorry I can't help," he said with a sarcastic laugh.
"I've already said it's fine," his brother replied. "Finley, you can go after your latest girlfriend."
No one really knew the escapades of Finley, the youngest Thomas, always surrounded by different beautiful women—a new one each day, never the same. Only his brother knew how their mother would retreat to her room to cry silently ever since Finley arrived, carrying resentment for this unexpected brother. He believed Finley felt the same. Someday, with enough evidence, he wouldn’t hesitate to push Finley out.
"Oh, thanks for not telling Dad; otherwise, I'd be in a bind," Finley chuckled, raising a ravioli to eye level, biting it delicately and savoring it slowly. "Obedient" was the last word anyone would use to describe him. His sharp, chiseled features felt like a cold winter wind, making his brother feel as if countless ice shards were piercing him.
"A child born from a woman who clings to every man in sight—I’m not interested!"
"You!" Even Finley's usually composed demeanor faltered at this. He sprang up, grabbing his brother’s shirt collar, anger etched on his face. "Say that again!"
His brother folded the newspaper, disdainfully pushed Finley away, and retreated to his room, slamming the door shut.
Alone in the living room, Finley’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup, his knuckles white with the pressure. Unable to quell the fury inside, the cup shattered, breaking with a sharp crack.
"Emmie, huh?"
Finley straightened, raising an eyebrow as he casually called for Mrs. Jenkins to clean up the mess, giving her an apologetic smile, claiming it was accidental.
Cobblestone Lane was a winding maze of rundown buildings and chaos—the epitome of noise and disorder. Its residents were mostly low-income workers, with a smattering of elderly and children among them.
A black sedan pulled up at No. 606 Cobblestone Lane, drawing curious kids who clustered around it. Neighbors were surprised to see such a car parked there, as the mother-daughter pair living at this address were generally reclusive.
Gossip-loving middle-aged women and lonely elders relished a good story. As two people entered No. 606, packing the car with meager possessions, the neighborhood buzzed with speculation.
"Isn't this Emmie's place? Heard her mom was in the hospital. Who are they?"
"What do you know? I heard Emmie's mom was quite the character. Maybe Emmie's some rich family's kid going back home now that her mom’s in a coma."
"Who knows? Maybe Emmie snagged herself a wealthy man and is off to a mansion."
"I always thought Emmie was special; with her looks, she wasn't going to stay in this rundown alley forever. Finding a rich guy’s easy for a young woman—until prettier ones come along, then men forget them."
Everyone chimed in, imaginations soaring. As Emmie would say, if these people wrote books, they’d be best-sellers.
Leaving behind the home she'd known for twenty-five years filled Emmie Stewart with deep regret. Every item in her room was precious. Who knew when she'd return after moving into the Hamilton family home? She didn't bring much, aware her stay would be brief. Mr. Johnson urged her to hurry, seeing her linger over her memories. He courteously reminded her, "Miss, we should go."
"Alright." Emmie locked the door, skipping farewells to the neighbors before getting into the car. Her days of scrambling for a meal were over, and she was supposed to be happy. Her mother’s medical expenses were now manageable, and survival wasn’t a concern. But regardless of how she tried to convince herself, she couldn’t find a reason to smile.
Emmie followed Mr. Johnson into the opulent Millray Estate. This was her second visit to the grand residence. In the expansive living room—extending over a thousand square feet—sat three people she recognized.
"You took your sweet time. Such a country bumpkin."
A woman in a red Victorian-style dress glanced arrogantly at Emmie, her smoky eye makeup reminiscent of a panda, the national treasure.
Ignoring Kairi Hamilton's remarks, Emmie addressed Mr. Hamilton in a composed manner, "Where's my room?"
"So rude, acting like we’re invisible?" Su Ling, beside Mr. Hamilton, gave Emmie a disdainful glance, though she maintained a smile, showing her presumably polished manners.
Seeing her sparked intense anger within Emmie, a desire to destroy everything—including the house. "You might think so, but I didn’t say it. Can I go to my room now?"
"You… Husband?" Su Ling frowned, seeking support from her husband. Kairi stood up, approached Emmie, and slapped her across the face, stars dancing before her eyes.
"How dare you speak to my mom like that? Apologize!"
Unfazed by Kairi, Emmie lifted her head, fists clenched with determination. Before she could retaliate, Mr. Hamilton descended the stairs, softly saying, "We’re all family. Let’s not fight."
Kairi, feeling justified, knew her father favored her, smiling smugly. "Sure, Dad, I’ll be a good sister."
Tears welled up in Emmie's eyes again. She forced them back, refusing to cry in front of them. Her mind went back to when she first visited Millray Estate, when her mother came seeking help for her school fees. She would never forget how Kairi had dragged her to try on clothes, only to tear them to pieces. When Mr. Hamilton returned, Kairi pretended innocence, claiming Emmie had worn her clothes without asking. Mr. Hamilton, not listening to Emmie, slapped her twice, then kicked her and her mother out like they were trash. Her tuition only got paid when her mother mortgaged their home to keep her in school.
